


Moon in My Lap

by Venturous



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is bothering Sherlock, and he can't quite put his finger on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moon in My Lap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girl_wonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_wonder/gifts).



> title from the poem Bridge by Jim Harrison  
>  _I sit on the edge, wagging my feet above_  
>  the abyss, the fatal plummet. Tonight the moon  
> will be in my lap. This is my job, to study  
> the universe from my bridge.
> 
> written before S1E11

“Coffee’s ready.”  
  
Joan is awake and cheerful and getting things done.  
  
Sherlock is thinking. There’s a detail that’s gnawing away at his mind, a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, and he is worrying it like a dog with an old bone.  
  
“Sherlock, did you hear me?” She whisks through the dining room again en route back to the kitchen.  
  
He detects a buzz on the periphery, and swishes his hand in the air as if it were a fly.  
  
Why doesn’t it fit? It’s not about the case, he’s solved that already, and is just waiting for a reasonable hour to call Gregson. No, it’s something mysterious, something ringing a new bell, distorting his mind-field, trying to get his attention. Something about Joan.  
  
He's looking forward to getting to the end of her contract, and finally being able to live with out a ‘babysitter.’ But now every time he heard her refer to her departure next week he felt compelled to point out a reason for her to stay.  
  
Why? He doesn’t need anyone to make his coffee.  
  
“Sherlock. Here.”  
  
Watson has given up trying to make him more considerate, and didn’t even resent it anymore. She sits the mug next to him, recognizing the signs of deep contemplation. Sure, it was still irritating to be ignored, but she understood him now.  
  
It seemed odd that after weeks of anticipating the end of this gig, now that time drew near for her to move out she felt… what? Nostalgic? Sad?  
  
Sherlock has made so much progress; he really doesn’t need her anymore for a sober companion. She’s seen him again and again choose to protect his sobriety, choose to walk away from the kinds of stressors or situations that could undermine his progress. She's reasonably confident that he is ready to be on his own. Why the feeling of regret?  
  
Maybe she isn't looking forward to trying to land another client.  
  
“Watson!” Sherlock shouts from downstairs.  
  
Joan pauses at the top of the stair, wondering.  
  
“Watson! I need you to answer a question for me, now!”  
  
She comes down the stairs gingerly, not with her usual purposeful tread.  
  
She watches him pace around the living room.  
  
“Oh, good Watson, there you are. I was afraid you’d gone out and not told me. But of course you rarely do that. You are most considerate in that way.”  
  
Sherlock is waving his hands around oddly, she thinks, as if he's nervous about something. She muses: _That’s odd._  
  
She looks at him, head cocked just slightly, blue-black hair cascading down her back. She studies his tattooed arms and waits for his question.  
  
It's likely to be something absurd, or obvious, or insulting. She's learned not to react, but to present a calm façade for him to reflect off of.  
  
“Watson, I have been trying to understand what's lurking on the edge of my mind for a week or two now.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Well, it’s strange, but I conclude I would like you to continue living here and helping me with cases. I’ve become accustomed to your assistance, and the thought of not having you here seems untenable. Unpleasant, almost. “  
  
Joan releases her firm resolve to remain neutral, and allows a small smile to warm her features.  
  
“You don’t want me to leave?”  
  
“No, I think that would be counter productive for both of us.”  
  
“I need to work, Sherlock. I need to earn a living.”  
  
He frowns. “Well, you could work with me.”  
  
“You don’t usually get paid.” She points out.  
  
“Hmmm, that is a conundrum.” He steeples his hands under his chin and looks consternated. Then springs up from his chair.  
  
“I’ve got it! I’ll tell my father that I just don’t feel ready to go it alone, and he should retain your services for another three months.”  
  
“You don’t feel ready? I think you are doing amazingly well. Your sobriety seems quite solid to me.”  
  
Sherlock frowns, looking down, fidgeting with his feet. Then looks up at her with twisted brow.  
  
“I’m not solid. No, that’s just the problem. Not if you leave. I can’t guarantee that I won’t just go out and start drinking.” He stands, looking like a triumphant child who had solved a puzzle.  
  
“Well, then, you’d better call your father.”  
  
He pales. “Yes, alright.” He certainly looks sober at this moment. She is amazed: he's willing to speak to his father. Maybe he has made more progress than she thought. He really must want her to stay.  
  
He shuffles off into the dining room looking worried but fiddling with his phone. He's really going to do it.  
  
Joan felt unaccountably relieved. She'd known for a while there was more to her unhappiness than just dreading a move and new client search. But it felt right.  
  
“Oh, and Sherlock, we’re going to work on making sure you get properly paid for consulting. Make this a real business. OK?”  
  
He strides into the kitchen and begins to speak into the phone: “Hello Father.” He waved his hand dismissively in her direction.  
  
She can’t help but smile.

  



End file.
